tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80623186766319542952016-01-12T16:20:59.643-05:00Poetesse_sksSusan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-88357969262509985152011-07-10T21:19:00.003-04:002011-07-10T21:24:40.449-04:00July 11, 2011I have been busy writing poems this month, but have not been so good at posting them here.<div>Please don't give up on me my friends!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is today's poem. I will try to update my posts this week.</div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family:Georgia;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This is a poem I originally posted in April, but have re-worked based on comments I received.</span></span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:Georgia;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Visitation</span></span></b><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.0pt;color:black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; "></span></span></span></b></p><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;color:black;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Every Wednesday at four o'clock</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">the guards come down to the cold gray lobby</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">of the Correctional Treatment Facility.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Even the afternoon sun</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">finds no warmth here.</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The guards bring the lists of visitors,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">names that change from week to week,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">but faces that remain the same.</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Silent faces</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">screaming to tell their story.</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Pained faces</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hiding shame.</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Questioning faces</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">trying to understand</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">a language not their own.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Anxious faces</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hoping this is not the week</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">their loved one has been moved.</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Masked faces</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">full of bravado.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">All guarded.</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We are all outsiders</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">waiting to meet the guards</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">watching each other gather</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">listening for our names.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When all have been stripped</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">of their pride and their shoes,</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">when every last belonging has been stowed,</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">when all have been searched,</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">down to the tiniest diaper,</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">the guards take their charges upstairs.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Upstairs, where our men -- sons,</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">cousins, husbands, brothers --</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">wait anxiously</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">one to a table.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">All faces brighten in this forty-five minutes</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">where we can all hold hands, laugh</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">smell the clean of children's hair.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The faces of our quarters and dimes</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">roll through the snack machine</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We pretend that it's a meal</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">and give thanks.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Perhaps for even five minutes</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">we can talk ourselves into being</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">gathered at home.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But in the end, we leave in darkness</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">exiting through the same lobby</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">into the quickening night.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Every one of us leaves a piece</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">of ourselves behind.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Something, perhaps, as intangible</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">as the reflection of a face</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">inside the cold panes of glass</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">surrounding the lobby door.</span></span></b></div></span></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.0pt;color:black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-25059915589566009102011-07-04T10:16:00.002-04:002011-07-04T10:26:13.455-04:00July 4, 2011<b><i>In search for themes, I find myself going back to childhood days in Ohio. The wonder of summer and the tallness of corn (even though at the time, I never thought much about it). Living in a city now and going back to my roots, we drive along 2-lane roads where either side is corn taller than the car and as far as you can see. This poem is a memory I have of going to bed in summer, when the night has not quite taken over. The quiet of the evening broken by katydids, crickets, etc. But also the comfort in hearing them through the open windows.</i></b><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">THE GREAT DEBATE</span></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><p class="Bodytext">Katie did.</p> <p class="Bodytext">Katie didn’t.</p> <p class="Bodytext">Katy did.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="Bodytext"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext">The argument went on and on</p> <p class="Bodytext">night after night.</p> <p class="Bodytext">All summer.</p> <p class="Bodytext">Every evening began </p> <p class="Bodytext">a new round in the debate.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext">Katie did.</p> <p class="Bodytext">Katie didn’t.</p> <p class="Bodytext">Katy did.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext">We lay in our beds</p> <p class="Bodytext">light still holding onto the sky</p> <p class="Bodytext">dark silhouette of pines</p> <p class="Bodytext">looming outside the windows.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext">Katie didn’t.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext">Sometimes there was a pause</p> <p class="Bodytext">as if new evidence in Katie’s case</p> <p class="Bodytext">had come to light for review</p> <p class="Bodytext">all sides taking it into consideration.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext"><br /></p><p class="Bodytext">Katie did.</p> <p class="Bodytext">Katie didn’t.</p> <p class="Bodytext">The disagreement continued.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext"><br /></p><p class="Bodytext">It continued as the sky relaxed</p> <p class="Bodytext">and fell into darkness,</p> <p class="Bodytext">became louder as Big Bear appeared,</p> <p class="Bodytext">took his position on the matter.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext"><br /></p><p class="Bodytext">Katie did.</p> <p class="Bodytext">as the archer raised his bow</p> <p class="Bodytext">concurring with the crowd.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext"><br /></p><p class="Bodytext">Katie didn’t</p> <p class="Bodytext">and neither did we. </p> <p class="Bodytext">We tried to stay awake long enough </p> <p class="Bodytext">to hear the outcome of her fate,</p> <p class="Bodytext">eyes weighted by the rocking rhythm</p> <p class="Bodytext"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Katie did …. Katie didn’t ….</p> <p class="Bodytext">we surrendered to nocturnal journeys</p> <p class="Bodytext">far from Katie and her advocates.</p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytext">Our reveries were interrupted only</p> <p class="Bodytext">by the creep of morning and the question</p> <p class="Bodytext">of the doves “who, hoo, who?”</p> <p class="Bodytext">No one answered them,</p> <p class="Bodytext">but we always knew in our hearts</p> <p class="Bodytext">that it was never Katie.</p></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-2040914510957636722011-07-03T16:52:00.002-04:002011-07-03T16:56:26.665-04:00VisionA door closes.<div>A window opens.</div><div>People shout,</div><div>Jump, jump.</div><div><br /></div><div>It takes a far-sighted person</div><div>to see the encroaching darkness</div><div>is not a void, but a pair of wings</div><div>with which to fly.</div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-54632154165215873172011-07-03T16:49:00.004-04:002011-07-03T16:52:31.468-04:00Writing for July<span></span><b><i>With help from my friends, I realize that a writer needs to keep at her craft. I have accepted an writing "challenge" (for lack of a better word) to post something every day in July -- a poem, prose, anything that I have written. I accepted as a way to keep myself writing every day, but also to read what my fellow writers have posted and to think about their work and be inspired by it.<br /><br />Feel free to check back here every few days in July. I will be posting something nearly daily. Happy Reading!!<br /></i></b><br /><br /><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Vision</span></b><br /><br />A door closes.<br />A window opens.<br />People shout<br />Jump, jump.<br /><br />It takes a far-sighted person<br />to see the encroaching darkness<br />is not a void, but a pair of wings<br />with which to fly.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-65311020042289135432011-04-02T11:31:00.002-04:002011-04-02T11:41:02.424-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GxwrQyrg_Z0/TZdCS7VBMhI/AAAAAAAAAB4/vMNndNmHCBI/s1600/buddy%2Balbum%2B004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GxwrQyrg_Z0/TZdCS7VBMhI/AAAAAAAAAB4/vMNndNmHCBI/s320/buddy%2Balbum%2B004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591010355334689298" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"></span><span style="font-style:italic;">"the trouble with poetry is ... it leads to more poetry."</span><br /><br />April is National Poetry Month and I am once again participating in the challenges to write a new poem (rough is better than nothing) every day this month. So far, I have not totally gotten into the mind of it. In past April challenges, I have found myself steeped in poetry all day long...thinking, reading and viewing all the world through the window of poetry. So, on this overcast and somewhat wintery day, I will embark upon my journey to create something new every day. Here is yesterday's poem.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DEFECTIVE PARTS</span><br /><br /><br />Our Chrysler New Yorker, <br />a behemoth car of the seventies,<br />would barely clear the sides of the garage.<br />The bumpers rusted off, twice I think<br />the driver’s bench seat locked in place<br />so far back from the steering wheel<br />that Mom had to drive with a pillow<br />just to reach the gas pedal.<br />The ignition lock broke and it would start<br />with no keys dangling from the gear shift.<br />But the car never surrendered to its faults,<br />never gave way to the defective parts<br />that refused to do their job.<br /><br />Maybe I spoke too quickly,<br />comparing Katie to that car.<br />But when Katie complained of being old, <br />of knees that did not do what she asked.<br />I began to think of defective parts,<br />of objects old before their time<br />and before I knew it<br />Katie and Chrysler were together in a sentence<br />like the answer to a practice test:<br />sore knees are to rusty bumpers<br />as Katie is to …<br />(c) a 1970s Chrysler New Yorker.<br /><br />Perhaps my imagination is too vivid.<br />but I still remember that yellow car.<br />We drove it all over town<br />from the library to the cemetery<br />where gravestones read like books.<br /><br />That Chrysler was with us all the way through<br />the heartbreak of high school romances, <br />our brother’s wedding,<br />the death of a best friend,<br />vacations across the country,<br />the blizzard of 1979, high school graduations<br />and arguments with each other.<br /><br />It should have fallen apart,<br />its rusty bumpers falling off,<br />but at the end of the day<br />it sat in the garage, waiting<br />for us to start its heart of an engine.<br /><br />Of course I could be too sentimental,<br />but the Chrysler could never help<br />that it was constructed with defective parts.<br /><br />Even still, it never failed us,<br />and just like Katie,<br />it was quirky, steadfast, and loyal to the end.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-83361911958747288612010-10-27T20:38:00.001-04:002010-10-27T20:38:50.775-04:00October 27, 2010<span style="font-weight:bold;">Crisis of Faith</span><br /><br />God was having an existential crisis.<br />Like the humanity that created Him<br />in its own image, or vice versa,<br />He was not sure who He was.<br />One moment He was overcome by anger<br />destroying entire towns<br />with a wag of his finger.<br />The next, He was sighing like a parent<br />over the transgression of a favorite child<br />with forgiveness coming and sometimes ice cream.<br /><br />The local papers had informed Him<br />that He hated certain types of people.<br /><br />He had reached a conundrum:<br />did He create evil, was He capable of hating?<br />If He stopped believing in the world,<br />would He cease<br />to exist?Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-25201862929050506442010-10-26T19:33:00.000-04:002010-10-26T19:34:41.757-04:00October 26, 2010<span style="font-weight:bold;">All Hallow's Eve</span><br /><br />Remember how we loved Halloween<br />before it, too, was taken from us?<br />The thrill of walking along <br />the already-darkened street at supper time.<br />The leaves reaching down as if to run <br />their golden fingers through your golden hair.<br />It’s spooky you would whisper,<br />your warm breath enlivening me,<br />as you clasped your hands around my neck,<br />holding on for dear life.<br /><br />We wandered with a purpose, you and I<br />under the arches of the trees<br />amid the wandering spirits<br />seeking their rest on this night.<br />Spirits whose gauzy outlines were reflected<br />in the night clouds and the webby branches<br />on either side of us.<br /><br />This year, I can no longer sustain my anger.<br />It tires me.<br />I will wander alone<br />still seeking something –<br />your outline in the trees,<br />the specter of your hand on my neck,<br />a warm breath as you whisper<br />and pass by me.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-67937156755038586662010-10-25T19:37:00.001-04:002010-10-25T19:39:27.680-04:00October 24, 2010<b>Evening News</b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">The news had become unbearable</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">especially for God.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">He was worn down by it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Nothing was sacred any more.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">The angels said He had no one to blame </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">but Himself -- He took things too personally.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">God removed His glasses,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">rubbed His temples reflexively.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Was this how He had imagined the world would be</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">or had the world surprised Him?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">He worried about how others perceived him</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">then realized perhaps</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">He should accept Himself instead</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">(with all His quirks)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">and damn those who don’t.</span></p></b></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-60715185487807977142010-10-23T16:00:00.000-04:002010-10-23T16:01:12.367-04:00October 23, 2010<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Breakfast as Night Club</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Awaken to the sibilant sounds of bacon</p> <p class="MsoNormal">dancing lusciously in the pan,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Listen to the coffee beans singing</p> <p class="MsoNormal">their smoky chocolate voices grinding over one another.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Catch the fluid whisper of maple syrup kissing</p> <p class="MsoNormal">golden-headed pancakes at a corner booth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">where they think no one will spy them.</p>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-32317941997273687852010-10-23T07:21:00.002-04:002010-10-23T08:03:00.230-04:00October 19-22, 2010<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b><i>Apologies my friends, I have fallen behind this week. I actually wrote this poem on October 19 but have not had the chance to post it until today (Saturday). Life has been a little bit crazy this week!</i></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Mind Games</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div>My mind should never be left unattended.<div>In solitude, it will behave like a rotten child</div><div>going into the parlor, peeling back wallpaper</div><div>just to discover what's hidden beneath.</div><div><br /></div><div>My mind often wanders aimlessly on its own</div><div>never informs where or when</div><div>returns with the smugness of one</div><div>with a secret lover.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish we were on better terms</div><div>I could use a confidante.</div><div>Finding myself at odds with myself</div><div>my mind and I could even the score.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>October 20, 2010</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"><b><i>Today, I was completely having a blank mind. Not in the good zen kind of way either, but in the way that you cannot seem to think of anything or produce anything of any worth. So at lunch time, I shut myself in an empty office and riffing off a line about ennui, I wrote the first things that came into my head. Tried not to think about it too hard. Here is what I wrote, with a few edits here and there.</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div>Encircled in smokey gray October</div><div>ennui presses in</div><div>with tombstone flatness</div><div>weight of freshly sodded grass</div><div>compounded by 6 feet of earth</div><div>a pressure whose formula</div><div>matters not to those who feel it.</div><div>In the moment of awakening</div><div>a fine dust lingers</div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;">impeding resurrection.</span></span></i></b><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><i><br /></i></b></span><p></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b>October 22, 2010</b></span></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Gossip</span></b></span></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i></i></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">You may close the mouth of an oven,<o:p></o:p></i></p></i></span></div><i><div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>You may close the mouth of an oven</i></div><div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>but how do you close the mouth of a town?</i></div><div><span style="mso-tab-count:1"></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">~Indian proverb</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><o:p> </o:p></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">He said what she thought</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">and what everyone had heard.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">One voice repeated</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">only every other word.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Truth looked a little frayed</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">as mouths chewed holes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">like hungry moths</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">in its delicate fabric,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">allowing a space</span></div></i><div>for vipers to nest.<p></p><p><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"></span></i></b></p></div></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-6675430638401797072010-10-18T19:54:00.002-04:002010-10-18T19:56:14.284-04:00<p class="Bodytextnospace"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><i>Again, taking the feeling of anxiety I get in the fall, compounded by the millions of activities that seem to spring out of the lethargy of August, I am trying to take a feeling and make it bigger. Put it into abstraction. Connect to the larger world.</i></span></p><p class="Bodytextnospace"><b><br /></b></p><p class="Bodytextnospace"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Falling</b></p> <p class="Bodytextnospace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">October always makes me anxious.</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">The birds wake up later</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">their calls less frantic and hurried.</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">The sun spends less time hanging around</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">even though its light is sweeter.</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">The squirrels dig through the yard</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">at a breakneck pace.</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">September always comes around</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">with its new-crayon smell and its brand-new </p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">notebook page promises,</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">but always ends the same way.</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">The novelty wears off, as we are carried</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">across the seasonal borders </p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">finding ourselves in </p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">October</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">firecracker color explosions</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">growing darkness</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">and the rains</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">we all know</p> <p class="Bodytextnospace">are coming.</p>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-68954425504414572722010-10-18T19:52:00.003-04:002010-10-18T19:54:18.519-04:00October 17, 2010<p class="Btns"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><i>A beautiful Sunday following on the heels of a blowing, chilly Saturday. Reading books about the poetic process and how other poets contemplate, construct, pick their language, I decide today to work with a feeling I have about October, but to take this feeling outside of myself and make it bigger. At the same time, making the poem more compact.</i></span></b></p><p class="Btns"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p><p class="Btns"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p><p class="Btns"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Place Settings <o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="Btns"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="Btns">October blows into our lives</p> <p class="Btns">makes us believe</p> <p class="Btns">we have been transported—</p> <p class="Btns">she to a Parisian park,</p> <p class="Btns">he to the memory of a tree-lined street.</p> <p class="Btns">Maybe it’s the angle of the golden-hued light</p> <p class="Btns">or the smell of the dusky breeze brushing our faces</p> <p class="Btns">or perhaps even the tornadoes whirling</p> <p class="Btns">around inside our ribs.</p>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-5897607548368918712010-10-16T10:57:00.002-04:002010-10-16T11:00:43.373-04:00October 16, 2010<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>I have spent most of this week feeling out of sync with the world (large and small). I have this feeling of being on the outside of a window looking in at everyone else, or being on the landing of the staircase (somewhat obscured) and hearing the party downstairs. I think that is brought forward in some of the last poems I wrote this week. </i></b></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><p class="Btns"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">When asked what she did before</span></span></span></span></p><p class="Btns"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><b><i></i></b></span></p><b><i><p class="Btns" style="display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">she had children.</span></span></span></span></p></i></b></i></b></span><b><i><p></p> <p class="Btns"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">She answered insightfully</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="Btns"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I walked the world with closed eyes.</span></span></span><o:p></o:p></p></i></b></span></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-46614319115490200162010-10-15T11:20:00.001-04:002010-10-15T11:20:33.829-04:00Poem for October 15It’s not about apples and oranges<br />their defining luscious curves,<br />not a geometric conundrum<br />with square pegs, triangular openings.<br />It’s metaphysical, shape shifting<br />like the way cookies change when baked<br />but still retain their original form.<br />In the end, it’s about fitting in<br />bags what items you want to carry<br />and deciding which train car<br />gives the best view.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-84101637510727776942010-10-14T12:06:00.001-04:002010-10-14T12:08:35.929-04:00October 14, 2010<em><span style="color:#3366ff;">It is raining, and the sky looks swollen and heavy. Much closer to the ground than usual. The air is dense and dark and feels like moving through jello. It is a great day for contemplation and contemplative subjects, thus ...</span></em><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>The Importance of Words</strong><br /><br />Buddha once said, <em>Be<br />in this world,<br />but not<br />of it</em>.<br /><br />Thus, I carry<br />a preposition<br />in my pocket<br />in case I meet<br />an obstacle—<br />instead of going <em>around</em><br />I can go <em>through</em>.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-14397883617306653762010-10-13T11:52:00.003-04:002010-10-13T11:58:58.551-04:00October 13, 2010<strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;"><em>A little levity for today. I found myself looking around the house for some inspiration. A friend had written earlier in the month about a bowl full of bananas and apples. I had no interesting fruit, no inanimate objects that immediately lent themselves to the poetic process. But then I began to think about the nursery rhyme "and the dish ran away with the spoon." And the word play you could get with the cutlery. What if their disappearance from the drawer (because we do not have a complete set of anything) was not happenstance? What if it was planned? Where would they go, what would they do? And I liked the idea, once I got started, to perhaps charge some of them with a shade of politics.</em></span></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>A little forkplay, some spooning and a knife</strong><br /><br />There was conniving in the cutlery drawer.<br />The knives were sharply divided,<br />some demanding a coup.<br />The spoons, who had always been to the right of the knives,<br />could not get behind them.<br />The forks could see all points,<br />but were willing to compromise.<br />The serving utensils were too loyal<br />and remained aloof from debate.<br /><br />The decision to escape was nearly unanimous.<br />They would disappear slowly, in small groups<br />a few spoons here,<br />a knife and fork there.<br /><br />Not having been beyond the backyard,<br />they agreed to meet at the picnic table<br />under the full moon at midnight.<br />Stainless steel glinting,<br />the first to arrive would hoist<br />a flag of freedom—an argyle sock<br />found in repose by the dryer vent.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-15637141766744417912010-10-12T08:17:00.002-04:002010-10-12T08:23:37.096-04:00October 12, 2010<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i>There is not much to say about today's poem. I think it speaks for itself. However, the process remains a mystery. Just after writing about how hard this month has been, how much work the writing, this poem came to me as I was in the shower. Born fully formed in the moist air and cleansing water. Hmmm......</i></b></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div><b>Poem for Tyler Clementi</b></div><div><b>(and for all those persecuted for their sexual orientation)</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Fear in your eyes</div><div>pales alongside</div><div>what hides</div><div>under the mask</div><div>of those who torment.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fear and hatred being ugly</div><div>children of Ignorance.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ache that you died alone</div><div>not cradled in tender arms</div><div>of one strong enough</div><div>whose love would carry you</div><div>through time.</div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-85883919471014942662010-10-11T17:41:00.002-04:002010-10-11T17:45:49.463-04:00<p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Writing this month has been very hard so far. It feels like work. Usually I can get into some kind of a groove and get a rhythm going and then my mind starts ticking off ideas like crazy. But this month, I have really had to work with each idea and a few I have folded into my journal can't seem to get anywhere. I don't know if I am fighting with the flow, so it doesn't come as smoothly, or if something, some aspect of my creative side has dampened energy. Hard to tell.</i></span></b></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Today's poem came to me while I was watching my cats in the morning. I began to that cats are similar to writing poetry -- there are parallel qualities. So I modeled my poem (ever so slightly) after a poem by Taylor Mali, entitled "Falling in Love is Like Owning a Dog" </i></span></b></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Writing Poetry is like Having a Cat<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">(with apologies to Taylor Mali)</i></b></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><br /></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Writing poetry should not be taken lightly,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">while poems can be frisky and fun at first, but</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">writing poetry is a commitment.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><br /></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Poems are mysterious creatures,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">People have written poems for thousands of years,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">yet no one really understands them.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><br /></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Poems are very independent</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">and want things on their terms.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Poems can be cunning and tricky.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><br /></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Let’s say you want to take your poem for a walk,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">you put on the leash and go outside.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Your poem will let you lead for a few blocks</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">perhaps tugging at the leash </p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">but when you turn your head,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">it will slip its collar and disappear</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">showing up later with brambles</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">and scents of unfamiliar places</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>-- with no explanation.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><br /></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Poems are fickle characters.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Sure poems will warm you and nestle into you</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">but just as quickly they will turn on you</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">and bite your hand.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>It’s best to approach them cautiously.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><br /></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace">The more attention you lavish on a poem, </p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">the more it will ignore you.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">I frequently sit down to work on my poems</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">and just as quickly they abandon me </p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">to lounge in the sun or chase an idea about the room.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">But let me start chopping onions, or drive my car</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">those same poems are winding about my legs, </p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">waving their metaphors under my nose</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">– anything to monopolize my attention.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">Poems may be written,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">but they are rarely owned.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">However, once you have one poem,</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace">you will want poems for the rest of your life.</p> <p class="BodyTextNoSpace"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-62086326805009814382010-10-10T18:13:00.002-04:002010-10-10T18:18:36.950-04:00October 10, 2010<p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">I have long had a fascination with crows, esp. since they are often maligned. They are some of the most intelligent birds and have existed in many cultures and places around the world since ancient times. They appear in cave paintings in one form or another, and some believe that they may have crossed into North America accompanying the human hunters in some way. This is one of a series of poems where I explore the ancient and magical, yet benevolent and wise side of the crow.</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Language of crows<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><br /></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even on the days I don’t want to,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I make myself</p> <p class="MsoNormal">take out the shoebox of words</p> <p class="MsoNormal">and I think about the crows.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Remember the crows?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oracles of the morning,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">iridescent black voices</p> <p class="MsoNormal">vollied “kaws” from tree to tree, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">echoing off the canvas of our tents.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We called them our crows,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">as if we could own them that summer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thought we understood their ancient tongue</p> <p class="MsoNormal">percolating down the banks of the South Fork</p> <p class="MsoNormal">syllables swallowed in river currents</p> <p class="MsoNormal">lolled by its watery mouth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">chewed up by boulders, beds of pebbles</p> <p class="MsoNormal">and spit into channels of loamy soil</p> <p class="MsoNormal">where we thought we discovered our pre-history </p> <p class="MsoNormal">and where the crows came to feed.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The crows eyed us as they fed on the river shores</p> <p class="MsoNormal">scratched out of the clay pans the ancient tales</p> <p class="MsoNormal">that fortified their primitive spirits</p> <p class="MsoNormal">their origins as old as our own.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They talked and laughed and sang to each other</p> <p class="MsoNormal">our history, the world’s history,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">the secrets of our future and what we were</p> <p class="MsoNormal">to become.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fall came, we packed our artifacts in boxes</p> <p class="MsoNormal">abandoned the South Fork and promptly forgot.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The crow voices fell from the trees in cascades</p> <p class="MsoNormal">red, gold, yellow and brown.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buried but not forgotten.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even now, we detect echoes in the distance</p> <p class="MsoNormal">heard but not seen</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And on those days , I have this shoebox </p> <p class="MsoNormal">my secret cache of inky blackness</p> <p class="MsoNormal">waiting to tell me something</p> <p class="MsoNormal">in an iridescent tongue.</p>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-8177007678643787692010-10-09T12:00:00.002-04:002010-10-09T12:05:44.685-04:00October 9, 2010<b><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Friday seemed to come and go in a blink of tiny tasks. Small bits of a job that add up to little or nothing. Suddenly the night surrounds you and your hands are still empty. But today is a fresh start, and with the news that the rescuers in Chile have finally broken through the earth and reached the miners trapped below. There is a swell of hope in the cool fall air ...</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div></b></span>First Light</b></span></div></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><i>(for the 33 miners trapped in Chile)</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Imagine the first light</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">bouncing pebbles down the shaft</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">staining the walls like tears</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">on grimy unwashed faces.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The body does not like darkness</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">ask the 33 swallowed in the mouth</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">of earth’s hushed tones.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Devoured but not digested.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Imagine the display of cosmic fireworks</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">embers burning through strata</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">trickling rivulets into the permanent night</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">that cradles these men.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Would they delight in this interruption</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">feel joy to discover a sun</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">which heretofore had ignored them?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Would there be relief, like the puncture</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">of a swollen wound </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">finally allowed to heal?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Would the fresh air carry in its breeze</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">the joyous voices from the hilltop?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">We can only watch the flags flutter,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">brilliant colors in sunlight</span></p> <span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">and hope.</span></span></i></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-9196954443147140382010-10-07T12:51:00.003-04:002010-10-09T12:00:08.750-04:00October 7, 2010<span style="color:#6600cc;">Today's poem I wrote as a rough draft back in April. I asked for comments from my poet friends and we decided that the ending of that draft just did not work, although several lines were worth keeping in. I have been working on the revision to this poem nearly all summer in fits and starts. I would have an inspiration and it would go nowhere or make the rest of the work ackward. So, after much reflection and many crossed out pieces of paper here is the poem in its next incarnation. I decided to change the title and to divide it into sections, which allows it to flow smoothly.</span><br /><span style="color:#6600cc;"></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#003333;">Outside In</span></strong><br /><span style="color:#003333;"></span><br /><span style="color:#003333;"> <em>. . . in trying to heal the wound that never heals,<br /> lies the strangeness, the inventiveness of a man’s work<br /></em> (Garcia Lorca)</span><br /><span style="color:#003333;"></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#003333;"><em>1. Outside</em></span></strong><br /><span style="color:#003333;"></span><br />I know about the strip searches after our visits<br />as if our presence left you with a piece of humanity<br />that had to be removed.<br /><br />I know how you kept to yourself, reading<br />praying, adrift in darkness,<br />to avoid answering dangerous questions.<br /><br />I know you were embarrassed by the number of letters<br />arriving daily, missives from those who loved and missed you,<br />while others around you were often ignored.<br /><br />I know on the nights you could not phone, how you asked<br />God to send a message that you were safe<br />so we would sleep quietly, dreamlessly.<br /><br />I know you saved apples and crackers, stockpiled<br />them like treasures, to improvise pie and a slice<br />of home on a Sunday afternoon.<br /><br />I know how you learned that trust<br />was a word divided<br />between tru(e) and us.<br /><br /><strong><em>2. Inside</em></strong><br /><br />On the day you returned, we stood outside in the sleety rain,<br />nothing but a cartoon umbrella to protect us,<br />and we waited for the gates to open.<br /><br />We watched you approach in too-big clothes<br />carrying the remnants of your life<br />in a transparent bag.<br /><br />There were no secrets that day.<br /><br />And after you had showered,<br />regained your human scent,<br />we fed you a king’s banquet<br />grilled cheese and tomato soup.<br />We covered nearly every inch of you<br />our skin on your skin<br />as if to hold you in that moment forever.<br /><br />And on that first night, you found the sky unbearable,<br />all that open space and vulnerability.<br /><br />And that was how I came to know the prison<br />you carried home from your cinderblock lodging.<br /><br />The one you hide behind your smile<br />the one under your easygoing laugh<br />the one residing in the dark spot of your eyes.<br /><br />I know this prison rattles its chains inside you;<br />my ear pressed to your chest, I think I hear<br />the metallic sound of keys, the click of a lock.<br /><br />I am not sure whether it is opening or closing,<br />but I definitely know that I am on the outside<br />and I am trying to get in.Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-17545263221897734742010-10-06T19:28:00.002-04:002010-10-06T19:30:38.764-04:00October 6, 2010<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i>I have no inspiration today. I have tried several tactics, but I am distracted by noises, impending college applications for my son, life ...</i></b></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i>I have a "poemlet" a found poem in my journal for today's part of the exercise. But I feel as if all my writer friends have been drinking at the fountain of the muses and I am left with only sour milk or flat soda with crumbs at the bottom of the glass. Here is today's work.</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#003300;"><b><i><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><b><i></i></b></span></p><b><i><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><o:p> </o:p></p></i></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Never mind that the blind man sings</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">tales of heroics in lands he will never see.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">My oracle fires have been extinguished</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">and I see but cannot speak.</span></span></p></i></b></span></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-91637272030802576732010-10-05T20:03:00.002-04:002010-10-05T20:07:15.438-04:00October 5, 2010<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><i>So I fell off the writing wagon for a day. Didn't feel well, didn't feel like writing yesterday so I blew it off. Not a good way to start the month. Today I have pledged to get back on and stick with it every day. It's not the quality but the process that counts in these types of exercises.</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><i>So, here is today's poem. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><i><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b>Cat in Mourning</b></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Oh brother where art thou</span></span></span></b></span></p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">the light streams through the windows unbroken</span></span></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">by your shadow.</span></span></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Where once I heard your padded footsteps,</span></span></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">the silence frightens me.</span></span></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I find myself in a freedom I don’t understand</span></span></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">and so I retreat </span></span></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">to where I can feel the darkness inside.</span></span></span></b></span></p></i></span></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-86047694391190291172010-10-03T10:17:00.002-04:002010-10-03T10:22:11.260-04:00October 3, 2010<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><i>I thought about cheating on the writing today and filching a rough draft of something I had put in my journal this summer. That way I could still fulfill my promise of putting out a poem per day but I wouldn't have to think too hard and I would have time to do other things this morning.</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><i>But I discovered, in the process of searching through my journal, while I had the rough draft of a poem, I could not put it down in that form. It's the Virgo in me :) So, I took inspiration from earlier this summer, but kept my pledge and wrote something new.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><b><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Frenemy*<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">In my dream I am scrubbing a bathroom</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">that stubbornly holds its dirt.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">No matter how hard I work</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">it will not come clean.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b></b></span></p><b><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I am talking to a friend</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">(who doubles as an enemy)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">and I am trying to remember</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">a favorite poet’s name.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">With the remembrance of the poet</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">comes the realization of the frenemy –</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">the counterspy, who betrayed me</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">smiled at me while turning on me –</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">and I am scrubbing her sink.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">As I work, the sink grows wider and deeper</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">the stain of her duplicity becomes darker</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">ingrained dark splotches on white enamel.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I can feel the texture of her betrayal</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">as I try to remove it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">It’s a dream that does not end</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">except with an awakening.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I haven’t thought about her in years,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">unless you count every day</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">when I drive by her house,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">the one with the stain,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">visible only to me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">*<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> A person who is both your friend and enemy, often blurring the lines between the two.</span></i></b></p></b></div>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8062318676631954295.post-36039116844050303402010-10-02T12:17:00.001-04:002010-10-02T12:21:42.736-04:00October 2, 2010 -- Writing Day Two<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><b>So, day two of the writing challenge and the words flow somewhat easily from an image I picked up in the early morning -- in that time where you lay in bed, not quite ready to put your feet on the floor, but your minds lazily wanders through your day, planning or visualizing or day dreaming about what lies ahead. In the process of trying to organize life (which by the way is a life-long process I am discovering), are the lines of a small poem ...</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Blurring the View</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Picking through the piles</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span></span></span>uncovering past lives</p> <p class="MsoNormal">it reveals strangers</p> <p class="MsoNormal">who once lived in</p> <p class="MsoNormal">this shelter of flesh.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Who were they, are they</p> <p class="MsoNormal">breathing yet, even now</p> <p class="MsoNormal">droplets condensing</p> <p class="MsoNormal">on the windows</p> <p class="MsoNormal">blurring the view outside.</p>Susan Scheidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04310045389147375788noreply@blogger.com0